The Hidden Man
by Angel of Iowa
Summary: A oneshot based on the 1990 Yeston/Kopit phantom. Alternate picnic unmasking scene. What if Christine doesn't faint when she sees Erik's face? Some liberties taken with Erik's appearance, since we never actually see his face in this version. I don't own the cover image!
1. Opening

**The Hidden Man**

 **By: Angel of Iowa**

 **A/N: Hi all! I'm so sorry, I know it's been a while, but I do have an excuse! I've been out of town for two weeks, and I leave Wednesday for a trip to Europe for another two weeks, so I won't be able to post anything until I get back. Until then, enjoy my Charles Dance oneshot. Who knows, if I get enough reviews saying this should become a longer story, I might do so.**

"Will you show me your face?" the golden-haired girl asked. The older masked man stared at her in shock. Why would such an angel wish to see his face? His hideous face, that only his mother, god rest her beautiful soul, could look at and love? " _She doesn't know what's beneath the mask! If she knew, she'd run away and never come back! She'd marry that womanizing fool of a Comte and never sing onstage again!"_

He began to pack up the wine bottle he had removed from the picnic basket a moment before. "I'm afraid, my dear girl, that you have asked me the one favor I cannot grant. Please, don't ask it of me again."

She grabbed his wrist, and he froze. No woman had ever touched him except his mother, and now, the most beautiful angel on god's green earth was holding his arm! Willingly!

"Please." She begged. "Please, just let me see you! If your mother could look at your face and smile, then I can too. I have seen your eyes, and I know your heart. _Let me know your face!_ "

He looked at her again, into her pleading blue eyes that revealed so much, and saw through his shields as if they were no thicker than the gauze used to bind the wounds of the ballerinas when they fell, and his heart caved in. "I-very well. Just please, try not to scream." He said, defeated.

He reached for the strings of his mask, tied behind his head in his light brown hair. He slowly, slowly,-too slowly!-pulled the white mask away from his face. With his hideous visage fully revealed, he kept his eyes downcast. He couldn't bear to see the horror and disgust that were surely taking the place of blind hope in her eyes. A slight gasp emanated from Christine's beautiful lips, and he choked back a sob. God, she must hate him now! Hate him! Now that she had _seen_ his horrible, pathetic excuse for a face, she must now see that he was nothing more than a monster, using a mask to hide what he truly was, in a feeble masquerade of a man.

What Christine saw brought tears to her eyes, tears of sadness, and tears of sympathy for what the poor man sitting before her must have suffered in his short life. Around his eyes, -his beautiful, gorgeous grey-green eyes!-the skin was black and sunken. His nose, what there was of it, was too small, much too small. How could her dear Maestro even breath, let alone sing so beautifully as he had sung to her last night? It didn't make any sense at all! The side of one nostril simply wasn't there, while the other one seemed to fold in on itself, obstructing half the airway. His cheeks were thin, seeming to be no more than a sheet of skin covering the bones of his skull. The left cheek was mottled purple, black and blue, the right one the same color as his perfect mouth and chin, except for a long, bright red scar that traveled along his cheekbone and up into his hairline. In a cruel twist of ironic fate, (for fate is often ironic,) his mouth and chin were beautifully formed, fit for the lover of the goddess Aphrodite herself.

Was _this_ why he had been shunned by the world, and forced to live a lonely life in the dank, cold catacombs under the opera house? Oh, cruel fate! "Oh, Maestro." She choked out, overcome by her emotions. "What kind of life must you have known? My poor, dearest Maestro."

Erik looked up at her in disbelief. Tears were raining down her perfect face, but she wasn't crying in fear. She was crying…for _him?_

It was all too much for him. He started to sob as well, tears that had been trapped inside since he was a child. Tears had not fallen from his eyes since his sainted mother had died, all those many, lonely years ago. He fell forward, his face landing in her lap. Christine immediately turned her body so that she could hold him better. She cradled his head in her hand, the other arm wrapped about his shoulders as she pressed his head to her chest. Rocking back and forth, she soothed him as best she could, but how does one soothe a grown man probably almost twice one's own age? She began to quietly sing a lullaby that her father had once used to soothe her when she awoke in the dark with nightmares.

"The stars, the moon, they shine above your head. Sleep my dear, in your own warm bed. Nothing you see in your dreams can hurt you, all they can do is make your courage desert you. But don't let go of your courage, child…" She sang quietly, and as she sang, her Maestro's tears began to slow, and eventually stopped altogether. She continued to hold him, however, sensing that he had reverted into a childlike state of mind, and in this moment, needed nothing more than to be held.

Finally, his arms returned from around her waist, and he sat up to face her. "C-Christine. How can you do it? How can you look at my hideous face and smile? How can you cradle me against your heart as if I were a normal man? _How?_ "

She smiled, the tears in her eyes not daring to fall. "I can do so, Maestro, because I know you. I know your heart, and I know that you are a good man. A better man than any I've ever known, except for my father." Her expression suddenly turned from tender compassion to heartrending anguish and sorrow. "You-you deserve the world, Maestro, and you deserve much better than-better than me!" She wailed.

Erik was shocked at her sudden change of mood. The tears in her eyes started to fall, and each drop that fell down her face branded itself in his heart as if it was scorching hot iron. "Christine, my dear, what madness are you speaking of? Better than you? Such a thing does not exist! You are magic, Christine, the very embodiment of perfection! You-" He stopped and swallowed. "You are an angel, Christine, you are perfect. Why do you say such horrible things?" He questioned.

She looked at him in disbelief. "How can you say such things to me? How can you, when I failed you so terribly last night? Maestro, I swear, I don't know what happened. I was nervous, yes, but I sounded as I normally do when I warmed up, but halfway through the first scene, my throat started feeling funny, and then-then I just couldn't do it! The words, the music, it just wouldn't come out!" She sobbed.

Erik saw that she was rapidly becoming hysterical, and did the only thing he could think of that could possibly calm her down and give her some modicum of comfort. He reached out and pulled her gently into his arms, settling her upon his lap like a child. Wrapping one arm around her back, he stroked his other hand down her long, golden locks, trying to soothe her as she did him just a few moments ago. She, in turn, wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her face into his shoulder, inhaling his scent-a heady mix of candle wax, spices, and ink. Her tears soon ceased to fall, and she became calm. She did not move from her position, however, wishing to remain in his arms for as long as he would have her there.

Finally, Erik murmured into her hair, "Please, Christine, do not blame yourself for what happened. It was not your fault, do you understand? It was _not_ your fault. It was that witch, Carlotta's. Christine, why did you take that drink from her? You know she doesn't like you, she never has."

"She said it was something made of herbs, that a lot of opera singers use for their nerves. I asked her if I could have some, because I was shaking in my boots. Was that what stole my voice?" She asked, pulling back just a little bit so that she could look into his face.

He nodded. "That wasn't a nerve tonic, my dear. It was a mild poison. Not enough to cause you harm or permanent damage, but enough to paralyze your vocal cords to the point where you can't sing."

Tears filled her eyes once again, and she buried her face into his shoulder. "Why would she do that?" Christine sobbed. "Why does she despise me so much? I have done nothing to her!"

Rocking her and comforting her once again, Erik replied, "Because, my dear, she recognized your talent. You clearly outshone her at The Bistro, and she was jealous, especially when it has been made clear that she is not meant to perform onstage. She was scared, and did the only thing she could think of: she took away your voice, and with it, your chance to upstage her."

She shook her head against his shoulder. "I-I don't think I can go through that again, Maestro. It was humiliating! Everyone looking at me as if I was common trash, and laughing in my face! I can't do that again, I simply can't! Please don't make me go onstage again, please!" She begged.

Erik held her weeping in his arms, shocked. Not go onstage again? Preposterous! That was what he had trained her to do, that was why he had shaped her voice to be the perfection it was now! But, as he looked down at the angel crying terrified tears in his arms, his heart caved in once again. How could anyone, even the hardest and most jaded hearts, force anything upon this sweet girl? She was a miracle in and of herself, simply for being able to look at his face without the mask-the mask! He looked about frantically for it, suddenly quite aware that his face was still bare and on display. Seeing it lying next to where Christine was sitting before he had pulled her onto his lap, he removed his arm from her back to retrieve it, only for her to beg, "No, please, Erik-don't let me go!"

Shocked, not only at the fact that she desired that he should continue to hold her, but that _she knew his name,_ he replaced his arm on her torso. "Christine, dearest-how in the _world_ do you know my name?" He asked curious.

Christine suddenly tensed up. "Oh, no, I shouldn't have said that. Please don't be angry, I didn't mean any harm!" She pleaded.

"Shh, Christine, calm yourself. I'm not angry, my darling girl, I'm just curious. How did you find out my name?"

She gulped. "Well, this morning, Monsieur Carriere came to see me, and he told me your entire life story, including your name." She looked up at him. "I think it suits you."

Erik smiled at her. "You do, do you? Well, thank you, my dear. You're the first person to think so."

She blushed. "May I address you as Erik? Or would that be too disrespectful?"

Erik laughed. "My dear, it would give me the highest pleasure if you were to address me by my name. And I swear to you, I shan't make you go onstage again if you don't want you. Nobody will ever again make you do anything you don't want to." He promised her.

She looked him in the eye, and asked, "Then, Erik, may I stay with you down here? Your home is so beautiful, so peaceful, and I'd prefer to be here with you than to go back up there with them. Please?"

Her shocked Maestro looked down at her, her pleading eyes, her cheeks still stained with tears. "Of course, Christine, you may stay with me as long as you wish. In fact, you may stay with me forever."

She looked up at him with shock in her eyes, and he cursed himself for scaring her. _"Of course she doesn't want to stay here forever, you fool! Why should she be trapped here with you, the angel from heaven trapped with one of hell's demons? She only wishes to stay a few days until the gossip dies down about her debut!"_

"May I truly stay here forever?" She asked in a small, meek voice that both activated Erik's protective instincts and-shamefully-aroused him.

"Of course you may, my darling, if you wish to do so, but I don't see how you could ever wish to stay with me here forever. Though, I would be more than overjoyed that you would want to, but I must ask, why? Why would you wish to stay with me here in this cold, wet dungeon of hell?" He questioned her, wondering at the reasoning of such a desire. To stay in such a place, with him, was his truest, fondest wish, but why should she want to stay here in this place, never again to see a sunrise or sunset without asking him to take her above, (which he would, of course, do at her request. It was no hard task to get to the roof, which offered the most spectacular views of Paris in the entire city.) never to enjoy seeing the daylight again, never to have the luxury of looking out her window when she woke up in the morning and seeing the birds fly past as they sang their cheerful tunes.

She looked down and bit her lip. That singular action was enough to make Erik groan inside and hold her just the slightest bit tighter, pulling her closer to him. "I-I'd like to stay with you forever, if you'll allow it, because-because of these feelings inside of me, in my heart."

"Feelings?"

"Yes. They-they have been building in my heart, since the day of our first lesson, but slowly, so slowly, that I myself didn't know what they were until last night, when you brought me down here. You were so gentle with me, so tender, that I couldn't help but feel safe with you, because I _knew_ that you wouldn't judge me for what happened, wouldn't laugh at me for something I couldn't control. Even now, just you holding me is enough to calm my tears and make my world alright again. Maestro-Erik-I think I might love you." She looked up into his shocked face. "I'm not sure yet, but I think I do, for I can't imagine my life without you in it. I can't imagine waking every day, and not seeing you there! In my entire life, I've never felt this way about someone, you're the first. Even when I was with the Comte after the Bistro, and he kissed me, I didn't feel like this. You-we haven't even kissed, and already my feelings for you are stronger than my feelings for him ever were!" She went on.

Erik could hardly hear her. He was still stuck at the moment where she had said "I love you." She loved him. _She_ loved _him!_ Him! _"Well, to be fair, she said she_ _ **thinks**_ _she loves you. Don't get your hopes up. Where has hope ever gotten you in the past?"_ Then another voice spoke up. _**"She's seen your face, and she knows your entire bloody life story thanks to Gerard. Why not give her a chance? This is your only chance at truly being loved, Erik."**_ He decided to take the risk, and admit how he truly felt about the angel in his arms.

"Christine…" His voice was hoarse and shaky, almost painful.

"Erik? Is something wrong?" She asked, with all the guilelessness of a six year old who had just said her first swear word, and didn't know it was wrong.

"Christine…Christine, my darling, I love you. I've loved you since I first heard you sing that night on the stage. Your voice was so pure, so beautiful, and I knew, _I just knew_ that if you allowed me to train you, you could soar to the heavens with your voice. Then, when we started our lessons, you didn't look at me as if I was a freak for wearing a mask, or pester me with questions as to what was underneath, or constantly wonder why I chose to stay anonymous except for the moniker of "Maestro." And I saw you, that night. You didn't see me, but I saw you, I saw what you did. I saw you help that poor boy, I saw you hide him. Your kindness, your brave spirit and gentle heart, they just made me love you even more. And now, even if someday your feelings should fade and you should leave me once again alone, I shall be happy in the knowledge that I at least _was_ loved, even if it was fated not to last." He told her, his feelings rushing out in a flurry of words so rushed that at the end she struggled to comprehend their meaning.

She looked at him blankly for a moment, and then smiled. Such a smile broke out on her face, as has not been seen in all of the thousands of years of time before. "Oh, Erik!" She choked out. And, for the rest of the afternoon, those were the last words to emerge from her beautiful mouth. She pressed herself to Erik's body once again, and they held each other for a long while, each eventually shedding more tears, this time tears of joy, and not sorrow.

Erik pulled back and looked into Christine's eyes, begging for permission. She nodded, and he slowly lowered his mouth to hers, allowing her plenty of time to change her mind, should she wish. She did not. As his lips met hers, he felt something, something he had never felt before in his life. Not quite an emotion, but a powerful feeling unlike any other.

For the first time in his life, Erik felt like a man.

 **A/N: Whew! That took me a day and a half to write, you would not believe it. Anyway, anything you recognize doesn't belong to me, but for all of you who have seen the 1990 phantom and don't recognize something, that probably does. Please read and review, and I mean all of you. Review. Seriously. I'm not going to keep writing and posting these stories if I only get three reviews per chapter I write. Also, I've created a community specifically for 1990 phantom stories. Currently, this is the only story on there, but if you have a 1990 phantom story and would like to enter it into my community, please feel free to contact me.**


	2. Love

**A/N: Hello again! This is the first actual storyish thing I've posted since getting back from Europe. Sorry, I had horrible jet lag, which let to equally horrible writer's block. I have decided to not only continue this, but to start juggling a few different stories to prevent said block. Now, I'd like to ask for your help: on my profile, if you scroll down a bit, are the descriptions for about four different stories I haven't started on. Please take a look at them, and let me know through comments or pm which one you'd like me to start on. The one I get the most requests for will be the one I work on, and I'll try to get the first chapter posted within a week and a half or so. That's about as short a time as I can promise. You'll also find some info about me personally, and character profiles, too, so it's worth checking out. Love you all!**

"Erik, love, where are you taking me?" Christine giggled.

Erik turned around and grinned at her, her golden hair hanging in a tangle around her face, dress wrinkled and hanging off her frame, with bleary eyes staring at him. She had never looked more enchanting than she did in that moment.

"Just trust me. I want to show you something amazing. We're almost there, close your eyes." He requested.

Christine rolled her eyes and complied. He took her hand and led her up what seemed to be endless flights of stairs, until finally Christine heard a door open and felt cool, misty air and a breeze on her face. Erik's arms wrapped around her, as he pulled her back flush against his strong chest. He leaned down until his mouth was beside her ear, and breathed, "You can open your eyes now, my love."

Christine opened them, and the sight before her took her breath away. They stood together on top of the opera house, facing the sunrise. There were just enough clouds in the sky so as to create places for the colors of the early morning sun to catch and amplify. Streaks of orange and rose painted the sky, while the earth lay dark and still beneath. Not a soul was yet awake except for the two of them, standing as still as statues in each other's arms.

"Do you like it?" Erik asked, and Christine cursed the unsurety that still lingered in his voice.

She turned around and removed his mask, ignoring the way he still tensed slightly when she did so. She prayed that the day would soon come when he wouldn't react to the removal of the mask. "Erik, I love it. Thank you, so much." She turned around again. "I haven't had the chance to watch the sunrise since I came to Paris. Living in the storeroom, I obviously had no windows, and even when I was in the theatre, working, I never had time to stop and look at the sunrise. Thank you." She breathed.

Erik's chest swelled with warmth and pride, that _he_ was the one who had given her this happiness. He wanted to shout it from the rooftop of the highest building in the city that the beautiful girl in his arms was _his_ , loved _him_ , and that _he_ loved _her_!

He settled for tightening his arms around her, and resting his chin on top of her golden curls. She sighed sweetly and nestled back farther into him, craving his warmth. In her hurry to follow him and her half-awake state, she had neglected to put on her cloak.

They stayed there until Erik noticed that Christine was starting to shiver. "My dear, are you cold? Forgive me; I have quite a higher tolerance for cold than most humans do, most likely the product of my lifetime in the caverns below the opera house. Come, I will take you inside where it is warm."

He began to pull her along, cursing himself for not taking her health into account. ' _She is not like you, you fool! She is delicate, and she doesn't have her cloak with her!_ '

She pulled back on his arm, laughing, "Oh, Erik, darling, I'm fine." Seeing the dry look of disbelief he gave her, she giggled again. "You keep me plenty warm, even without the cloak." She assured him.

He was not convinced. "Nevertheless, it is chilly, you are in little more than your nightgown, and you have not had breakfast yet. For that reason, we will go in, since you are still too stubborn to admit that you are shivering from the cold." He declared.

Christine rolled her eyes, but acquiesced. "Alright, alright! Let's go inside, since you are so desperate to have your breakfast." She mocked him.

He growled playfully, and hearing it, she squealed and ran for the stairs, Erik chasing after her, carefully staying just out of arm's reach of the back of her dress. They ran down the stairs and through the empty opera house, Christine laughing and Erik growling the entire way.

Eventually, Christine saw a door that had been left slightly ajar, and took the escape. Looking around, she saw that she had run through the back door to the costume room. Smiling at her luck, she darted down one hallway, turned right, then left, then right again, until she was sure that she had lost Erik completely with all her twists and turns. Little did she know, that Erik knew these twists even better than she did, and that she was at the point where most of the hallways formed by the racks converged, made so that new employees could be found by more experienced ones when they – inevitably – got lost.

"Ahem." The sound came from behind her, and she jumped in startled surprise.

"Erik! Oh, fine. I thought for sure that I would have lost you in here." She pouted.

Erik laughed, then bent down and kissed her. She was simply too adorable not to when she made that face.

A sound came from the direction of the entrance, one that only Erik's ears were sensitive enough to detect. Christine remained unaware, and continued with their kiss. Sensing Erik trying to pull away, she thought that he was trying to retreat from her once again, and simply brought her hands up to cup his face. Groaning at the feel of her soft skin against his ravaged visage, he forgot all about the noise – until he couldn't ignore it any longer. Breaking their connection, he pulled back and gave her a sorrowful look.

"I'm sorry, my dear, but I must go, at least for now. Meet me in your dressing room as soon as you can, and I will take you back to my home; that is, if you still wish to stay there, of course. You are under no obligation to –" She cut him off with another kiss.

"Of course I still want to stay with you, Erik. I love you, and nothing will ever change that. Now go, before someone sees you." She urged him. He touched her face one last time and then seemed to disappear literally into thin air.

"Christine? Christine, is that you?" Came the voice of her childhood friend, the Comte de Chagny. He came around the corner and saw her, standing with her hands behind her back and a smile on her face. "Christine! Thank god, you're alright! We were so worried about you! Where in god's name have you been, woman? I've had the gendarmes looking over every inch of this building for you, and they never found a trace!" He cried, pulling her into his arms. He failed to notice her stiffness or lack of response to his affections.

"Phillipe, I'm fine, as you can see. Nothing happened to me while I was away, I was well taken care of." ' _And then some._ ' she thought to herself.

"Nevertheless, who was the man who took you? Is he the Phantom of the Opera? Do you know him?" He asked, his eyes frantic with concern for her.

"Phillipe, I'm touched by your concern for me, but it's not really any of your business. Who I keep company with and where I spend my days are my decisions, and if I choose not to inform you of what those are, then that is my own decision as well. Now, if you would please release me…" she trailed off.

He immediately let go, abashed. "But, Christine, the other night, you seemed to care about me."

She sighed, hating that she had to break his heart. ' _Better that I do it now, though, before he can truly develop any feelings that might last. It will hurt, but it would hurt more if I kept my silence and told him later._ ' "Phillipe, I do care about you." She began, and her heart sank when she saw his face light up in joy. "As a friend. We shared wonderful days as children, and I will treasure the memories of our time together for the rest of my life. But…I cannot give you what you ask. I cannot."

Confusion, then affronted anger crossed his face. "You cannot give me what I ask? What I _ask_ , as you so delicately put it, is nothing more than what I deserve, you ungrateful girl! Who was it that noticed your voice and sent you here to be taught? Me! Who sponsored you at The Bistro, when no one else believed in you? Me! Who got that clown, Choletti, to give you the lead role in Faust that _you_ botched? Me! Damn it, Christine, I have done _everything_ for you, and all I ask is what I am due! And you deny me, you ungrateful wretch!" he yelled at her.

Christine shrunk back in fear, as the gentle boy she had adored as a girl disappeared and was replaced by a selfish, dangerous one. Still a boy, yes, but he now had a man's body…and a man's ability to take what he wanted, regardless of what she said. ' _Erik…please be nearby._ ' She prayed. "Phillipe, please!" She screamed.

"Please what? Spare you? Spare you what, Christine? The horror of my bed?" he sneered, every trace of his former self now gone.

"That's quite enough!" a deep bass voice thundered. Looking over, Christine breathed a sigh of relief. _Pierre!_ "Release her, Monsieur, before I am given a legitimate reason to remove you from this building. The young lady clearly has no desire to share your society, and a _gentleman_ would not force such society on her." He demanded quietly.

Phillipe apparently understood the implications quite well, and slowly released Christine, who ran to Pierre with a whimper of pain. Pierre spared a glance towards her arms, and saw the red marks left by the Comte's hands. Narrowing his eyes, he slipped an arm around her small shoulders, drew her close, and pulled himself up to his own tremendous height. Staring down at the Comte, he said, "A man who leaves such marks on the arms of a lady, commoner or otherwise, surely cannot be a gentleman, whatever his stature." The disdain in that deep voice would have been enough to make the greatest kings, at the greatest heights of their rules, bow their heads in shame.

The Comte did the same. "I was only talking to her. I didn't mean to cause her any distress." He mumbled, refusing to make eye contact with the basso singer.

Pierre sniffed. "If that was true, Monsieur, she would not bear such marks upon her arms. Good day to you." Turning away, he whispered to Christine, "Don't worry. He won't bother you any more. This isn't the first time I've had to step in and interfere when he gets to rough or forceful with one of the girls here. Normally I don't, as it's none of my business if they choose to take a lover. However, several of them are in the same situation as you, where they don't have a father, brother, or husband to protect them, and some men will try to take advantage of that." He explained.

An immense wave of relief and gratitude rushed through Christine. "So you protect them? Why?" she asked.

He looked down at her, smiled, and winked cheekily. "Because if I don't, I wouldn't be able to look any of you in the eye again. Where I come from, a man who can't, or won't, defend a woman, whether he knows her or not, is seen as a coward, and shunned by the entire community." He shuddered. "It is a fate worse than death."

Christine smiled sadly, reflecting on just how true those words were. "Very wise, Monsieur. Thank you, for helping me. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't."

He smiled at her again. "It was no trouble, my dear girl. To tell the truth, I never liked the Comte much anyway. Too much money and privilege with not enough sense and decency. A bad combination. Take care, Mademoiselle." He said, kissing her hand gently, then leaving her alone by her dressing room.

' _He's a kind man._ ' She thought. She walked into the dressing room, happy to find it empty. She locked the door and sat in front of the vanity, studying herself in the mirror. ' _What could Erik possibly see in me?_ ' She wondered. ' _I'm no great beauty, so that can't be it. He said that he loves me for my brave spirit, but I'm not brave. If I were brave, I wouldn't have needed Pierre's help to get away from Phillipe. So what does he see in me?_ '

She studied her face. Her skin was pale, as was the current fashion, but that wasn't special. All of the girls in the chorus had pale skin like hers. Wild, wispy blond hair sat in a knot above her head, making it seem too large. It looked better when she left it down, but it wasn't proper to do so, and besides, the wind would blow it around her head until the snarls were so big she couldn't get them out. Her face didn't have any of the exotic or angular beauty that some of the other girls did; it wasn't ugly, by any means, it was simply rather plain. She was short, almost childishly so, without the curves that would make her petite, rather than childish.

Unbeknownst to Christine, Erik watched her from behind a hidden door, having seen Pierre thankfully come to her rescue. Seeing her stand up and begin to unlace her nightgown, he quickly turned away and stared at the wall behind him. ' _If she ever found out that I watched her while she changed, she'd never trust me._ ' He then heard a grunt of frustration. Turning around, he saw Christine struggling with the back laces of her dress. Chuckling and shaking his head, he opened the secret door, approached, and grabbed the laces himself.

Christine wasn't surprised to find him there. He was wherever she went, protecting and watching over her. She smiled. "Thank you, Erik. I'm assuming you saw what happened back there in the costume room?" she asked wryly.

Erik gulped. ' _God, yes. And I heard what Pierre said. Is she now going to think me less of a man because I couldn't defend her from the Comte? Damn him!_ '

"Erik? Are you alright?" she asked worriedly.

"Y-yes, my dear, I am fine. I – yes, I was. I saw everything that that fool did to you. Oh, my love…are you alright?" he asked, frantic. He grabbed hold of her arm, and looked at where the Comte had grabbed her. A red handprint circled her bicep, a bruise beginning to form at the edges where his fingers had been. Erik gently brushed his thumbs over the reddish bands.

"I'm fine, Erik. They'll go away in a few days, and then it shall be as if it never happened." She assured him.

He leaned down and gently brushed his lips over the marks, as if he was seeking to heal them with the love he held for her. "I could kill him for doing this to you." He muttered. Looking up, he saw her porcelain face pale, and he cursed himself for scaring her – again.

"Erik, please, don't say such things." She begged. "I couldn't bear it if something happened to you."

"Nothing will happen to me, Christine. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself." He reassured her. "However, it appears that I cannot even defend you from that _boy_ who is so determined to make you his!"

"Erik, darling…" she trailed off, not sure what else she could really say to him. "It wasn't your fault. Really. Pierre was there, he helped me, and he said that Phillipe won't bother me again."

Anger surged to life in Erik's breast, that she would remind him that it was _Pierre_ who had to defend her from the foolish boy, and that he had stayed hidden in the shadows like a coward the entire time. "No, Christine, it is not _alright,_ it is a travesty! I couldn't protect you. I failed in my duty, and had Pierre not been there to help, who knows what would have happened?" he shouted.

"Erik…"

"Stop it, Christine! Just stop it! Stop trying to convince me that it is alright, that you are fine, that it was not my fault!" he fell to his knees before her, and she stared at him in shock. "Why do you love me? What have I ever done to deserve the love of one of God's own angels?"

She closed her eyes and cradled his head in her hands, threading her fingers through his hair. "Erik, darling…" she whispered, kneeling down low to face him. "I'm no angel." She said, avoiding the more difficult question for the moment.

He looked at her suddenly. "You are. You are an angel." He said, the fervent conviction clear in his tone. "But I still fail to understand _why_ you love me. I am a monster, Christine, a killer." She stared at him in shock, and he laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, yes, my darling, these hands that hold you and touch you now have ended the lives of many men, men who did no wrong except to disobey my orders and go down below, where it is forbidden. I am the one who has been playing the tricks on Carlotta, humiliating her in front of Paris. I AM THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA!" he screamed.

Christine just smiled. "I know." She said, her face completely calm.

He looked at her in shock. "You…what?"

"The chorus girls gossip about you endlessly, and from listening to them, it didn't take long to put two and two together. I didn't give much credence to their stories, however, since you had always been so kind and gentle to me." She told him.

"But…I have killed, Christine. I cannot hide it, nor can I change that fact." He said, eyes downcast.

She grasped his chin in her hand, and brought his head up to look into his eyes. "Were they in cold blood?"

"In a way, yes. It is well–known that the cellars are forbidden to anyone without special permission, and no one is permitted to go below the third one. The men who met their deaths at my hands went below the third cellar, and came dangerously close to my home. Had I been discovered, Christine, I would have been hunted down and killed, my body put on display at a freak show. I couldn't bear for that to happen, and so I defended myself. All I've ever really wanted in life was to be loved…and if I couldn't have that, then to be left alone. But apparently even that is too much to ask for a creature like me." He sobbed, his body shaking and completely wrung out.

Christine didn't say a word; she simply held him close to her again and let him cry. ' _Oh, my poor, dear Erik. Has no one ever held you before? Have you ever had anyone to lean on? Fear not, I shall never leave you. It would kill the both of us._ '

Eventually, his tears stopped, and he calmed once again. "Forgive me, Christine, please. You should not have to watch me weep every time I get upset. It is funny, almost, actually." He giggled mirthlessly. "I have gone almost my entire life without shedding tears, yet, in your presence, my dear, it seems I cannot contain them. I would not blame you if you chose to leave and find someone stronger, who–"

She cut him off there. "Erik, you stop those words right there! I love you, and the fact that you shed tears does not make you weak – it makes you human. You say that you have gone your entire life without shedding tears? I could never imagine doing that, it would kill me. It's better that you release your emotions this way, where it doesn't harm anyone, than to let them build until you simply cannot hold them inside any longer. Cry if you feel you need to, Erik. It is what makes us human." She said quietly.

Erik looked up at her in shocked disbelief, not quite understanding what he was hearing. "You…you do not mind that I let my emotions get the better of me? You must know, Christine, that I have a horrible temper, and a lifetime of solitude – except for Gerard – has not helped that. I cannot always control it, as I have never had any need to. I never thought that anyone, let alone a beautiful woman like yourself would ever share this life with me, and quite a few pieces of furniture have suffered for it in my fits of rage against the ineptness of the management and performers." He said sadly.

"Erik, for the last time, I am not leaving you! There is nothing in this world that could take me from your side, nothing! Not the managers, not Phillipe, not the police, and most definitely not your temper! Do you really think that you are the only man on earth who has a bad temper? I have seen women, when I was traveling with my father, who could barely say a word of any opinion they might have had, for fear that their husbands would lose their tempers and beat them. You are not a bad man, Erik, having a temper does not make you a monster." She saw him begin to open his mouth and reach for his mask. "And if you say one word about your face, I swear, I shall strike you." She declared.

He started, and then, to her great pleasure, began to laugh uncontrollably. He actually doubled over and wiped tears from his eyes. "So, I am to have a fierce warrior share this life with me, am I?" he teased. She blushed, and began to deny it, only for him to cut her off. "I wouldn't have it any other way. When I dreamed of my perfect companion, in the cold nights of my lonely life, I never pictured a passive, obedient doll." He walked up and placed his hands on her hips, brushing his mouth over hers. "She was always a woman of passion and music, unafraid to stand up to me and voice her own opinions. I never thought I would find such a woman…and then I met you, Christine." He whispered against her lips.

"Erik…" she moaned, as his mouth covered hers once more. No one interrupted them this time, and it was he who pulled back.

"Christine…" he whispered. "There is something I must ask of you. I know it may be far to soon to ask this of you, and I am willing to wait for your answer, but please, all I ask is that you consider it. Will you promise me that?"

She nodded eagerly. "Christine…will you do me the great honor of courting you? I won't pressure you into anything you aren't ready for, but I swear, I will never give you cause to regret it." He promised her.

She clapped a hand over her mouth and nodded, tears falling from her crystalline blue eyes down her cheeks. "It would be my honor…if you would be my suitor, Erik." She choked out, but that was all she could manage to say before throwing herself into his arms. He caught her and spun her in the air, the both of them laughing like children.

Setting her down, he pulled her close and held her, pressing his face into the golden tendrils of hair that hung down to her waist, and she buried her face into his shoulder as she had done a mere two days ago at their picnic in his enchanted woods.

And for once…two lonely souls were complete, and were lonely no longer.


	3. Empathy

"Erik! Erik, where are you?" the voice of Gerard Carriere rang through the cellars where Erik, and now Christine, resided.

Erik, who had been at that moment sitting on the lounge with Christine in his arms asleep, groaned, and attempted to shift her off of his lap without waking her up. Succeeding, he quietly made his way to the lake, where Gerard stood with his arms crossed and a stormy expression on his aging face.

"Where is she, Erik? Where is the girl?" he asked.

"She's asleep, on the chaise. And she has a name, you know." Erik shot back.

"Don't you care at all about her reputation, Erik? You and she are living in sin, for god's sake! This cannot continue! You must let her return to the surface!" Gerard yelled.

"Be quiet, you old fool! You'll wake her up! And what do you mean, don't I care about her reputation? The strumpets who sing and dance about onstage up there openly sleep with multiple men, and that stupid Comte uses this place for his personal brothel! Don't you know that he was the one who brought her here? Why do you think he did that? It obviously wasn't for his pure enjoyment of her voice. Trust me, Gerard, she's better off down here with me than she is up there." Erik hissed.

Gerard appeared unconvinced. "Be that as it may, the Comte may well be looking for her. She must return to the surface with me, Erik. You shouldn't have brought her down here in the first place."

Erik slumped, appearing broken. "Do you truly wish to take away my only chance at happiness, Gerard? Would you take what is mine by right, and separate the two of us? Are you so determined to play the hero?" he whispered.

"Damn it, Erik, stop that! She doesn't belong to you, and she doesn't belong down here! She is not your ticket to happiness, and you can't keep her down her against her will! This has nothing to do with some bloody hero complex that I don't have!" Gerard yelled.

A new voice broke in. "And what makes you think I'm here against my will, Monsieur Carriere? The fact that Erik is disfigured? Do you truly think me so shallow that I cannot see past it to the truly remarkable man that he is inside? I am surprised at you, Monsieur!" Christine scolded him, in all her messy-haired glory.

"Mademoiselle, please. There are people up above searching for you, and who are very worried for your safety. You _must_ return with me!" he pleaded.

"Oh, there are, are there?" Erik drawled. "We were just up there yesterday morning, Gerard, and I saw no signs of any search for her. I am aware that the police were investigating her dressing room after I brought her down, and I am also aware that they gave up the search because of a lack of leads as to her location. You are blowing this entire situation out of proportion, and making it seem to be a bigger issue than it actually is."

Gerard glared at Erik, with all of the naked disdain that a man who has seen too much is capable of. "Whether or not there is any _official_ investigation going on, you must still return to the surface with me, Mademoiselle. As I have said before, you and Erik are living in sin, and I know you hold your faith dear to your heart. You cannot remain here, Christine, it is wrong." He urged her.

Christine looked at Erik, and his pleading grey-green eyes stared back at her, begging her not to leave him. She looked at Gerard, and said, "Monsieur, I don't think we're really living in sin, as you say. There has been nothing improper between us, and just yesterday I gave Erik permission to court me. Is it wrong for a couple in this state to spend time in each other's company?" she asked.

Gerard started at her words. "You two…what? Courting? When did this happen?" he asked angrily.

"She just said when, Gerard. Yesterday morning, when we went above to watch the sunrise. I asked, and she said yes. There isn't anything difficult to comprehend in that sentence, is there?" he asked.

"Difficult to…Erik, you fool! You know that no matter how much you wish this to be, it simply cannot! And you know that! So why get both her hopes up, and yours? You cannot marry!" Gerard screamed.

Christine stepped back, gasping quietly. Wet tears filled her eyes, and her eyes flew back and forth between Erik and Gerard. Erik stepped forward, and reached for her, but she shook her head, taking another step back. She whirled around, and ran back into the house, her small shoulders wracked with sobs. Erik turned and looked at Gerard, his eyes murderous, and Gerard knew it had been a mistake to interfere in this particular affair of Erik's.

"For your own safety, Gerard." Erik said, slowly, his voice menacing, "I suggest you leave immediately, without speaking to Christine, and definitely without _her_. It seems that once again, I am going to have to clean up your mess, and I highly doubt that she will wish to see you while she feels that you have ruined her dreams. Go. _Now."_

Gerard nodded, then turned and left, shoulders slumped, and his manner subdued. ' _What have I done?_ ' he asked himself. ' _Have I really just crushed that poor girl's dreams? Have I ruined my own son's happiness?'_ he then stopped, shock and horror flooding his entire psyche. ' _Oh, god, can I even call myself his father anymore? Have I ever had that right? I'm not sure. I don't think I can. I've never truly been a father to him; and I don't think I've ever seen him so happy. Oh, god, what have I done?_ '

Meanwhile, back in the spacious cavern that Erik called home, Christine had locked herself in her room, sobbing into one of the pillows on her bed, heartbroken and betrayed. _His own father doesn't approve of me. I thought he liked me? He was so kind to me the other night…but I suppose that's what he meant when he told me to leave. He thinks that I can't truly love him because of his face, and that I'm only here because he's keeping me here._ She let out another sob. _And Erik…he didn't even try to defend me! He just stood there and let Monsieur Carriere insult me like that! How could he do such a thing? I thought he loved me…_

She didn't look up when Erik knocked at her door, or when he entered and stood silently before her. "Will you not speak to me?" he asked her after several moments of silence.

"I'm not sure there's anything to say. He clearly doesn't approve of me, and you clearly don't love me as much as you say you do." She said quietly.

Erik stood silently for several long moments, shocked down to the very core of his being. Not love her? Impossible! Preposterous! Downright insane! Where in the world could she have possibly gotten such a notion into her head? He opened and closed his mouth several times, but no sound, not a single word emerged. The only sound to be heard was the quiet dripping of moisture droplets from the ceiling to the floor in another part of the cavern, which echoed and grew louder as it approached the silent pair.

 _Drip…drip…drip…_

"Christine…what in the world did you just say? Can you even… _hear_ yourself? What madness has taken over your mind to make you speak such lies?" he finally managed to force out.

She turned her head away, and muttered, "You didn't defend me when Monsieur Carriere said all of those horrible things. You didn't argue with him when he told us we couldn't get married." A sudden thought occurred to her, and she looked straight into his eyes, and asked, "Unless…did you ever intend to marry me, Erik? I wouldn't have minded a small wedding with just the two of us, you know that. But was even the thought of that too much? Were you simply hoping that I would one day forget all of the values that I hold dear, and consent to be your mistress? You know I will not do that, Erik. I cannot." She declared.

Those words snapped Erik out of the trance he had seemingly gone into. He rushed forward, and dropped to one knee before her, grasping her hand in an attempt to reassure her. "Christine, I swear, I would never have asked that of you. And dismiss these foolish thoughts of questioning my devotion to you; you _must_ know them in your heart to be false. Christine…I did plan to eventually ask you to marry me, I truly did. I wasn't planning on doing so anytime soon, for I did not want to rush you into anything you were not ready for, but I _would_ have proposed to you. Gerard's insistence that I cannot marry you does not stem from any feelings of dislike towards you; far from it. He quite likes you. It stems from the fact that I was never baptized, my birth never registered with the church, or with any authorities. I am a bastard, Christine, as you know, and though many would couch it in more delicate terms, the truth of my situation stands. I don't exist, Christine. Not in the eyes of the government. If you had wished to get married, it would have had to be a civil ceremony, since we cannot simply declare ourselves married in the eyes of your god. That custom went out over a hundred years ago. But I swear to you, Christine, that if you had wished it, I would have found some way for us to be married." He promised.

Christine sniffled and wiped her nose. "What made you change your mind?" she whispered.

"What?"

"You kept saying _would_ have, if you _had_ wished, I _did_ wish. What made you change your mind?" She asked.

Erik marveled at her remarkable ability to misunderstand him. "Christine…nothing has changed my mind, and nothing ever could. You know that I love you, and I vow to you that that fact will never change. I…assumed that because of this misunderstanding, that you would no longer wish to remain with me, and would make me return you to the surface. And I would have done so, Christine, if that had been your desire, though it would destroy me. But if it would make you happy, I would go to the ends of the earth to fetch you the exact blade of grass that you desired."

Christine looked up at him, tears in her crystalline blue eyes. "But that wouldn't have made me happy, Erik, and you know that. I love being here with you, and I love _you_. I don't want to leave. And you should stop _assuming_ that the worst is always going to happen to you! I know that you haven't had an easy life, and my heart _aches_ for all that you've suffered! I'm not going to abandon you, Erik, no matter what. But you need to put your faith in me, and the love I bear in my heart for you. Can you do that?" she asked, the tears overflowing her eyelids and streaming down her face like twin waterfalls of liquid diamond.

Matching tears appeared in Erik's eyes, as he laid a reverent kiss on her knuckle. "Christine…I want to have faith in you, truly I do! But I've been alone my whole life, except for Gerard, and I just don't know how to trust. I've only ever been able to trust myself and him, nobody else." He looked up at her, the tears now cascading town his face unheeded. "Please believe me when I say I want to, it's just…" he trailed off.

"Just what? Tell me." She commanded. He shook his head in resistance. "Erik, tell me."

He stood up and turned around, the pain evident in every line of his slim form. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, and rasped, "How am I supposed to trust when everyone else I ever did betrayed me?"

A gasp came from behind him. "Erik – what are you talking about? Betrayed you? Betrayed you how?"

He shook his head again. "My mother – she was the first. I realized long ago, in hindsight, that she never purposefully betrayed me, but in the mind of a very young child, such things are irrelevant. She – she was very sick, and I suppose that I knew somehow that she wasn't long for this world. I made her promise me that she wouldn't leave, wouldn't…" _die_ , the word echoed silently through the room, unsaid, but understood. "When she passed on, I was inconsolable, screaming, crying, begging her to come back, and going into a rampage when she didn't. Gerard didn't find out until the next morning, when he found me by the shore of the lake with blood on my hands from hitting them against the walls." He explained.

"Oh, Erik…" Christine murmured, tears filling her eyes again, this time in empathy for the young child he had once been, who had lost the dearest thing to him. "Who was the other?" she asked.

"Gerard." He spat, the disgust palpable in his tone.

"Gerard? How did he betray you?"

"Can't you guess? You, yourself, were witness to it. Four days ago, when he came down here, he tried to take you away with him for the first time, didn't he?" he asked. At her nod, he continued, "And when he was in there with you, he told you my story. All of it. Including something he has never told me, and yet told you. Do you know what that little piece of information is, my dear?" he drawled sarcastically.

A sob caught in the back of her throat. She pressed her palm to her mouth and nodded. "Yes. Yes, there was. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Erik, I'm so sorry, but I didn't think it was my place to interfere. I'm so-"

He pressed his lips to her forehead and cut her off. "Shh, Christine, it's all right. I'm not mad at you, and you're not the one at fault." He pulled her into his arms, and she rested her head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent. Erik buried his face into her hair, and murmured, "I've known for a long time that he was my father, Christine. Have you not noticed we share the same eyes?" he jested weakly. He immediately turned serious once again. "But still, you can see why I find it hard to trust others. I swear to you, though, my darling, that I will find a way. I _want_ to trust you, Christine, I truly do. You've already seen my face, and didn't run, and that is a far greater miracle than I ever dared wish for. If that can happen, Christine, then I can learn to trust you, as well. All I ask is that you give me time; it isn't going to be an easy task."

Christine nodded, and pressed her palm to one side of his face. A question arose in her eyes, and Erik closed his, nodded, resigned to her will. She reached around the back of his head and undid the knot, gently removing the mask from his face, then frowning. "What is it?" Erik asked quietly.

Christine tilted her head. "Erik, how long have you worn the mask?" she asked quietly.

"My entire life. I have told you this, Christine."

"No, my love, I mean for how many years have you worn it."

Erik thought for a moment, counting the endless stretches of time, and the masks he had had. "That one in your hand I have worn for about eight years. Before that, I had an identical one that I threw into the lake in a fit of anger. That one I wore for six. Before that one, there was an ever-changing series of masks I wore for thirteen years, which needed constant replacing due to my growth." He answered her, emotionless.

Christine gasped in shock. "Haven't you ever gone without a mask?"

Erik's eyes darkened. "No. I have no wish to see my monstrous face any more than I need to. The mask at least allows the façade of normalcy, so long as I do not look too closely. Why do you always persist in its removal, Christine? There cannot possibly be anything you wish to see underneath." He asked bitterly.

"You're wrong." She said.

He looked down at her, a question of his own in his eyes. "I like to see you without the mask. I like to see _you_. With the mask on, you can hide from me, and hide your true feelings. Without it, you can't. You've been alone so long, you've never had to hide your facial expressions, to guard your true feelings. If the mask is off, I can always see them, and see how you're truly feeling, what you're really thinking." She explained.

Erik blinked at her in shock. "You can tell what I'm thinking because of my facial expressions?" he asked in disbelief.

She nodded. "Most of the time, if your mask is off, I can. I can tell what you're thinking right now."

Erik smirked. "You can, can you? Well then, what am I thinking, my love?" he teased her.

She tapped her finger against her bottom lip theatrically. "You're thinking about me!" she exclaimed.

"Oh? And how did you come by this fact?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Simple. You're always thinking about me." She stated, as if it were obvious.

Erik's laughter echoed through the stone caverns, traveling up and into the theatre. As it travelled through the empty hallways and theatre, it reached the ears of Gerard Carriere. He lifted his downturned face and looked around in shock, recognizing the rare sound of his son's laughter. His aged heart lifted just a little at hearing it, with the knowledge that perhaps, all was not lost. That perhaps, there was still hope, for him, for Erik, for Christine, for the cruel, fickle nature of humanity. Hope that there could still be love, even in the opera's hallways, famous for their grand debauchery. Hope, that one day…they could all find peace.

 **A/N: And that's a wrap! Well, for this chapter at least. I think there's going to be two more vignettes in this story, and then I'll call finis. I'm really enjoying writing this story, and it looks like you guys are really enjoying reading it. I'm going to be working on the second chapter of The Colors of The Queen next, which I will try to post Monday, since I will have a three-day weekend to write with. Please review, and I have a question for the next chapter: do you all want a reconciliation scene with Gerard and Erik? One last thing: I'm going to start posting when I think I'll be posting the next chapter of my stories on my profile, so look there if you want a schedule update.**


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